proceeded. “It’s a state crime, Kyle, we all know that. Normally we wouldn’t be involved, but since you’re here in Connecticut and the indictment is in Pennsylvania, the boys in Pittsburgh asked us to help arrange the next meeting. After that, we’ll step aside.”
“I’m still confused.”
“Come on. Bright legal mind like you. Surely you’re not that thick.”
There was a long pause as all three considered the next move. Plant chomped on his second fry, but his eyes never left Kyle. Ginyard took a sip of coffee, frowned at the taste, and continued staring. The pinball machines were silent. The deli was empty except for the four FBI agents, a bartender absorbed in the game, and Kyle.
Finally, Kyle leaned forward on his elbows, and with the recorder just inches away he said, “There was no rape, no crime. I did nothing wrong.”
“Fine, talk to Wright.”
“And where is he?”
“At ten o’clock, he’ll be at the Holiday Inn on Saw Mill Road, room 222.”
“This is a bad idea. I need a lawyer.”
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” Ginyard said, leaning in so that their heads were a foot apart. “Look, I know you don’t trust us, but please believe it when we say you should talk to Wright before you talk to anyone else. Hell, you can call a lawyer, or your father, at midnight. Or tomorrow. If you overreact now, the outcome could be a disaster.”
“I’m leaving. Conversation over. Turn off the recorder.”
Neither made any move toward the recorder. Kyle looked at it, then leaned down and said, very clearly, “This is Kyle McAvoy. The time is 8:50 p.m. I have nothing else to say. I have made no statements, and I am leaving Buster’s Deli right now.” He scooted off the bench and was almost out of the booth when Plant blurted, “He’s got the video.”
A horse kick to the groin could not have hit harder. Kyle clutched the red vinyl and looked as though he might faint. Slowly, he sat down again. Slowly, he reached for a plastic cup and took a long sip of water. His lips and tongue were parched, and the water did little to help.
The video. A fraternity brother, one of the drunks at the little party, had allegedly recorded something with his cell phone. Supposedly, there were images of the girl, naked on a sofa, too drunk to move, and admiring her were three or four or five Beta brothers, all naked, too, or in the process of undressing. Kylevaguely remembered the scene, but he’d never seen the video. It had been destroyed, according to Beta legend. The cops in Pittsburgh had searched but never found it. It was gone, forgotten, buried deep in the secrecy of Beta brotherhood.
Plant and Ginyard were elbow to elbow again, all four eyes focused and unblinking.
“What video?” Kyle managed to ask, but it was so lame and so unconvincing that he didn’t believe himself.
“The one you boys hid from the cops,” Plant said, barely moving his lips. “The one that places you at the scene of the crime. The one that will destroy your life and send you away for twenty years.”
Oh, that video.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyle said, then drank some more water. Waves of nausea crashed through his stomach and head, and he thought about vomiting.
“Oh, I think you do,” Ginyard said.
“Have you seen this video?” Kyle asked.
Both nodded.
“Then you know I didn’t touch the girl.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But you were there,” Ginyard said. “You were an accessory.”
To keep from throwing up, Kyle closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. The girl was a wild little thing who’d spent more time in the Beta house than in her dorm room. A groupie, a clinger, a party animal with an abundant supply of Daddy’s cash. The brothers of Beta passed her around. When she cried rape, the brothers had instantly gone mute and solidified into an impenetrable wall of denial and innocence.The cops eventually gave up when she proved too unreliable with the details. No
“I’m still confused.”
“Come on. Bright legal mind like you. Surely you’re not that thick.”
There was a long pause as all three considered the next move. Plant chomped on his second fry, but his eyes never left Kyle. Ginyard took a sip of coffee, frowned at the taste, and continued staring. The pinball machines were silent. The deli was empty except for the four FBI agents, a bartender absorbed in the game, and Kyle.
Finally, Kyle leaned forward on his elbows, and with the recorder just inches away he said, “There was no rape, no crime. I did nothing wrong.”
“Fine, talk to Wright.”
“And where is he?”
“At ten o’clock, he’ll be at the Holiday Inn on Saw Mill Road, room 222.”
“This is a bad idea. I need a lawyer.”
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t,” Ginyard said, leaning in so that their heads were a foot apart. “Look, I know you don’t trust us, but please believe it when we say you should talk to Wright before you talk to anyone else. Hell, you can call a lawyer, or your father, at midnight. Or tomorrow. If you overreact now, the outcome could be a disaster.”
“I’m leaving. Conversation over. Turn off the recorder.”
Neither made any move toward the recorder. Kyle looked at it, then leaned down and said, very clearly, “This is Kyle McAvoy. The time is 8:50 p.m. I have nothing else to say. I have made no statements, and I am leaving Buster’s Deli right now.” He scooted off the bench and was almost out of the booth when Plant blurted, “He’s got the video.”
A horse kick to the groin could not have hit harder. Kyle clutched the red vinyl and looked as though he might faint. Slowly, he sat down again. Slowly, he reached for a plastic cup and took a long sip of water. His lips and tongue were parched, and the water did little to help.
The video. A fraternity brother, one of the drunks at the little party, had allegedly recorded something with his cell phone. Supposedly, there were images of the girl, naked on a sofa, too drunk to move, and admiring her were three or four or five Beta brothers, all naked, too, or in the process of undressing. Kylevaguely remembered the scene, but he’d never seen the video. It had been destroyed, according to Beta legend. The cops in Pittsburgh had searched but never found it. It was gone, forgotten, buried deep in the secrecy of Beta brotherhood.
Plant and Ginyard were elbow to elbow again, all four eyes focused and unblinking.
“What video?” Kyle managed to ask, but it was so lame and so unconvincing that he didn’t believe himself.
“The one you boys hid from the cops,” Plant said, barely moving his lips. “The one that places you at the scene of the crime. The one that will destroy your life and send you away for twenty years.”
Oh, that video.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyle said, then drank some more water. Waves of nausea crashed through his stomach and head, and he thought about vomiting.
“Oh, I think you do,” Ginyard said.
“Have you seen this video?” Kyle asked.
Both nodded.
“Then you know I didn’t touch the girl.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But you were there,” Ginyard said. “You were an accessory.”
To keep from throwing up, Kyle closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. The girl was a wild little thing who’d spent more time in the Beta house than in her dorm room. A groupie, a clinger, a party animal with an abundant supply of Daddy’s cash. The brothers of Beta passed her around. When she cried rape, the brothers had instantly gone mute and solidified into an impenetrable wall of denial and innocence.The cops eventually gave up when she proved too unreliable with the details. No
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